


The Clink From Another World

by Satchelfoot



Category: The Thrilling Adventure Hour
Genre: Alcohol, Cameos, Dogs, Doppelganger, F/M, Friendship, Marriage, Parody, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 11:55:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17043272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satchelfoot/pseuds/Satchelfoot
Summary: Frank and Sadie attempt a romantic night on the town, but an old friend needs their help once again.





	The Clink From Another World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spaciousbear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaciousbear/gifts).



**Beyond Belief!** Starring Paul F. Tompkins and Paget Brewster as those married mediums, Frank and Sadie Doyle. Featuring Patton Oswalt as Pterodactyl Jones and Kurt Russell as something from elsewhere.

Frank Doyle, svelte and witty. Sadie Parker Knickerhouse Doyle, slender and wittier. Both radiant as always in their evening wear. Both able to see ghosts and prepared to deal with all manner of unearthly creatures. Well… _all_ manner? Should one really assume that much? Yes, perhaps one really should.

“Who cares what evil lurks in the hearts of men?”

“Unless evil’s carrying the martini tray, darling.”

Clink!

Join the Doyles as they walk alone together, _beyond belief_ , in tonight’s chilling feature: _The Clink From Another World!_

Our story begins… far, far away from the Plaza Hotel? In the frozen winter wastes of New York City! A grueling _five-block march_ from the comforts of hearth and home.

“Sadie love, a fancy dinner with you,” says Frank, “is absolutely the _only_ reason I would consider leaving our penthouse at this hour in this weather. Or, if I’m being honest, at any hour in any weather.”

“Likewise, Frank darling,” Sadie replies, wrapping her black cashmere coat and red scarf more tightly about herself. “Only the prospect of a romantic evening with you could ever induce me to undergo this dreadful ‘out of doors’ business.”

“Of course, it helps when one knows it is to be primarily a liquid dinner.” 

“I’ll drink to that—and to everything else, naturally.”

Upon arrival at the restaurant, the Doyles find top-notch service and, most importantly, a more than full bar. Less expectedly, they spy their old friend, Pterodactyl Jones, hunched over said bar in a thick winter coat, nursing the latest in a long line of melancholy drinks. 

“Jonesy!” chirps Frank, while Sadie charms the bartender into leaving five bottles of brandy on the bar as an appetizer. “What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know if I can tell you that, Frank,” says the detective concernedly. “You see, I’m not sure you’re actually you. Which means that goes for you too, Sadie.”

“Oh, Pterry darling,” Sadie says, patting his arm with the hand that is not firmly holding a full glass, “what nonsense! You’re among friends here, you know that! And I see Harvey is with you tonight, so all cannot be entirely amiss.”

“Yes, Harvey somehow found his way back to my side,” says PJ unsmilingly, as his ghost pterodactyl friend squawks volubly and flaps his wings. “He, at least, I know is exactly who he appears to be.” 

“Look here, Peej,” puts in Frank, “what’s this business about us not being we? I am none other than Frank Doyle and this is indisputably Sadie. What is the motive behind your evident paranoia?”

The detective hesitates. Then: “Well, even if one or more of you are not yourselves, I guess it won’t damage things any further to tell you the story. Months ago, I was hired to find a—well, a _thing_ that my client claimed had arrived on this planet from somewhere in outer space. This thing, it seems, is like my liver: highly changeable and able to withstand anything. It survived travel through deep space and has been impersonating people and animals it encounters. To what purpose, I do not know. But it could be anyone. Even me. Even you.”

Frank, pondering the situation, looks down and notices something that has heretofore made itself unobtrusive. “Jonesible, do you know that there is a dog curled at your feet?”

“Oh, this big guy? I met him around the same time I started on the case. Strangest thing—he was running down the street, being pursued by a couple of Norwegian gentlemen who were trying to shoot him for some reason, if you can believe that! I had Harvey chase them off, because who would want to shoot such a good boy? Aren’t you a good boy?”

The dog, a sizable husky mix, pants happily and gazes up at its human.

“Well, darling, I’m not sure it’s up to the state health code,” Sadie says, “but if the beast brings you cheer while you endure this tricky case, well, mum’s the word.”

“Thank you, Sadie—if you are Sadie.”

“Well, you know we’d love to help out a pal, PJ,” says Frank, “but you know our department is the supernatural, not the extraterrestrial. Still, I’m sure we’ll think of something. Just at present, however, if you’ll excuse me, my bladder is like this glass in front of me: sturdy but currently full.” He finds his way to the back of the restaurant and the bathroom. After a moment, the dog gets up and follows him in there. No one seems to notice, but Sadie certainly does, and she, on a sudden suspicion, drains Frank’s glass and does not refill it.

Some moments later, two Frank Doyles (or Franks Doyle, depending on how one prefers to distribute the plural) emerge from the bathroom.

“Oh, dear,” Sadie murmurs, “Pterodactyl darling, I’m afraid your erstwhile canine friend is the Thing for which you have been looking. And now it would appear the I have two Franks with whom to deal. This is rather the sort of thing about which I enjoy fantasizing on occasion, but in real life it turns out to be both highly impractical and quite sinister. Which of you is my husband, please?”

“I am, Sadie!” simultaneously proclaim the two handsome men. “No you’re not!” they snap at each other in unison.

“I think we need to tie you both up and test your blood to prove your identities,” says Pterodactyl Jones. “I learned from my client that any part of this alien thing will react strongly to contact with heat.”

“So will Frank’s blood, darling,” Sadie cautions. “I’m afraid his and my blood alcohol levels are both so high that igniting said blood would constitute a significant fire hazard.”

“Sadie love,” says only one of the Franks, abruptly, “why is my glass empty? I would fully expect you to drain it while I was gone, but I would also hope and believe that you would fill it again by the time I returned.”

“That’s my Frank!” Sadie says, curling into his arms. “I was prepared to ask you many unseemly questions about birthmarks and succubi to prove you were you, but I had faith that a simple empty-glass test would clear things up.” She turns to the other Frank. “Look here, you Thing, why on earth or any other world would you impersonate my husband? Explain yourself before I fight you and win. And stop looking like Frank at once. You might not actually be him, but your appearance makes me want to do inappropriate things, such as drink toasts with you.” 

The Thing sighs and shifts its appearance to that of a different well-dressed, middle-aged man, taller than Frank, with gray hair and a well-kempt beard. “Very well, Mrs. Doyle, you’ve found me out. I come from a planet of shapeshifters. After many years interacting with my own species, I got bored and decided to explore the rest of the universe, eventually landing on this planet. I don’t require large amounts of sustenance, but I do have a biological need to regularly alter my appearance to mimic other lifeforms.”

“So you haven’t been a dog this whole time?” Jones wonders, aghast.

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Jones. When you’ve been asleep or not paying attention, I’ve been out imitating local cats and pigeons.”

“Can you really turn into anything?” Sadie asks. “You could turn into an axolotl? A capybara? A Pachycephalosaurus? A chupacabra? A Groot? A Tribble? A—”

“No, Mrs. Doyle, I’m afraid I can only turn into living things I’ve actually encountered. Nothing extinct or—mythical? Legendary? Are there chupacabras?”

“There are always chupacabras,” Frank confirms.

“I would love to travel and meet one and become it someday.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Jones sighs. “Now that I’ve found you, it’s my responsibility to take you back to my client. I have a large bill to give him as soon as I hand you over.”

The Thing levels a sad, sad gaze at him.

“Oh, really now, why would you do that, Pterry?” Sadie wishes to know. “He’s such a pleasant Thing—”

“Beg your pardon, Mrs. Doyle, but I prefer to be called ‘it.’”

“Certainly, darling, my apologies. Don’t you see, Pterry, _it_ is so harmless and even sweet once you get to know it and convince it to stop pretending to be your loved ones.”

“I’ve really enjoyed following you and Harvey around, Mr. Jones,” the Thing says. “I’m sorry I deceived you about my alien nature, although it probably should have been pretty obvious at some point. Please don’t send me to a lab to be experimented upon.”

“Well…” PJ hesitates. “I really did like that dog. And so did Harvey.”

The Thing instantly turns back into a big lump of a canine companion, which trots over and licks Jones’s hand.

“And so, once again, I went without a payday,” Pterodactyl declares. “I would have to tell my client that my investigation was like a null result in a scientific study: time-consuming and entirely lacking in the expected outcome. It would be another month of canned beans and moonshine at my tiny apartment, but that menu was far better than ratting out a friend.” He pats the dog’s head and the three of them leave together, Harvey gliding silently just above Pterodactyl Jones’s shoulder.

“Well, that was amusing, if existentially unpleasant,” Frank says, looking around the establishment with some discontent. “The restaurant staff does not appear to have noticed anything amiss. In fact, they have yet even to request our dinner orders. I am sorely tempted to undertip.”

“Franklin Rittenhouse Circulating Stove Doyle, do not blame these innocent people for sidestepping our positively ridiculous shenanigans. We shall tip most generously. Now, drink a toast with me to man’s best friend. Also woman’s best friend. And the best friend of everyone along the gender spectrum and beyond it.”

“That friend being liquor.”

“Of course, Frankenstein, what else would it be?”

“Nothing else, Sadistic. Nothing else except you.”

Clink!


End file.
